VICTIM
by Adeosun Olamide
Summary: A WOUNDED SOUL.


I don't know them; I don't know what they want, who they want or why they are here.  
Upon early dawn we woke up only to see soldier men littered everywhere, before my eyes my father was dragged away, the courage that use to be in his eyes weren't there and his reluctance shrewd the fear in our eyes, My mother expressed herself but she was far too weak to be observed.  
This is a tale, our tale, my tale the beginning of our many woes. The many beautiful serene now turned decapitated, the usual evening breeze that use to beseech the stream now turn into a wind that could fuel a tempest, The village square remain a square, the tree used to be their until now and the once lively square is now filled with skulls of those that made it lively.  
We kept praying to the God we created and we forgot the God that created us.  
Our lives were not longer us, our culture eroded daily and our resources exploited. What else they wanted remained a mystery.  
They gave us spears and arrows to go into gun battles; and we fought for our enemies with dart against bullet, against their armored vehicles. We were crushed but I was the only unfortunate one as I wasn't crushed completely. I survived.  
''Colonialism came before war and it brought weapons for war with it, the colonialist left us to destroy ourselves but we refuse to, we were called slaves but we were people like them turned slaves'' My history teacher use to tell us this and also of the many wars fought.  
I have lingered for days, weeks and even months to see my hand grow back, the possibility of it ever growing is one of the many unanswered questions in my heart,seeing my father again is another.  
Where mum and baby is gone to I don't know, she is being left in that room fora long time, she was crying until her voice faded away, since, I am in thirst of her presence and in hunger of her affection.  
Its two weeks now, mum has been taken to be delivered of her baby, it's like she is not coming back as everyone refusal to answer my question keeps me frightened.  
I have asked a thousand times from myself if she and our expected baby is fine,no one would tell me if she is coming back with our baby, her baby in her hands.  
The more I try to be strong the weaker I become, helping tears became unnecessary as they fought through my eyes and nose.  
They say, They say they are here to protect us yet they rape our ladies, They say the future is in our hands yet they cut it off telling us it has being infected, I feel the pain even until now, they added to my agony by whispering into my ears words that wont comfort a strongman, though I see by myself the maggot that beseech it hours it was cut off.  
Should I be happy? I won't consider my inability to protect those around me from being ravished and violated a blessing. Every day I see them, they pick little boys and girls, they say a bullet from a kid is as effective as a bullet from anyone, and the next day they return with their body, their lifeless body either without head and mostly covered with bloods, You would take a deep breath if you come across a corpse you did not know.  
Why this is happening I don't know, what we did I don't know maybe it's because we celebrated the longest reign of peace in our village the month before.  
Who knows why my land that was once filled with honey now turns into a land filled with pestilence, chaos? What plague is this? Our stream now flows with blood and tears. Settling amicably remains shrouded in obscurity.  
There use to be my school, now turned into a cemetery but I won't wait, I won't stop asking why, why they refuse my father the right to protect us, why they cut the hands of the future I won't stop until I find my breathe.  
O God of creation, direct my noble call and cause, help the truth to know and the path and part to tread, take the guns and vultures from our land, I pray here because in there, in that temple, the priest was killed, on the altar, was it not before your presence? I beg you to let my hands grow again, I want you to be with my mum and our baby and sure don't forget father, let our village be as it use to be, I pray you turn this reality into dream as I want to go to the stream, I want to catch butterflies and grasshoppers, I want to pluck oranges from the tree, I want to hear stories at the village square that's all I need as I go through this isolated, detached and lonely life as it seems You even have forsaken us.

The voice of the victim.


End file.
